


Too Much Chill

by SeeWithMyOwnEyes



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Android Gore (Detroit: Become Human), Angst, Broadway References, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Whump, Detroit Police Department (Detroit: Become Human), Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Good Dog Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Musical References, Not Really Character Death, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Protective Parent Hank Anderson, References to Alcohol, References to Be More Chill, References to Drugs, Suicidal Thoughts, The Author Regrets Everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22077268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeWithMyOwnEyes/pseuds/SeeWithMyOwnEyes
Summary: An encounter with drunk Gavin leads to Hank educating his robo-son on musical theatre. Connor watching “Be More Chill”-- What could possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor & Sumo, Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 10
Kudos: 58
Collections: AWBB collection





	Too Much Chill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nolfalvrel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nolfalvrel/gifts).



> To any readers, please be gentle with this fic. Last March, before I even wrote fic to share with other people, I saw Be More Chill for the first time on Broadway, and thought it would be funny to see how badly the characters if DBH would react to it. (Love me some robots poorly reacting to media). I drew a fan comic of the idea, and intended to leave it to rot in my art journal, but then I found the AWBB in August, and with no ideas, wrote it down to submit for the Big Bang as a fic, getting in way too deep before I realized how cringe this was. I think it’s better if you know the plot of Be More Chill (the musical), so there’s Wikipedia for that, I guess, but I’m really only posting this to be fair to my brilliant artist @Nolfavrel.

“Hey, Con! You’re a fancy prototype, right? And you analyze samples all the time-- You able to get wasted?” 

Tina inquisitively held out one of the shot glasses she’d been double-fisting in the deviant’s direction. Connor grimaced as whiskey splashed onto his shirt-- at least Hank had convinced him to dress down for the occasion-- and guided Tina’s hand away from him. 

“No, Officer Chen. I am unable to ingest more than a sample size of anything other than thirium without putting my corporeal integrity at risk. Besides, from what I’ve seen, being ‘wasted’, as you call it, appears rather uncomfortable; I don’t understand why humans enjoy it…” 

“‘Cuz it’s fun! Live a little! Fowler’s gonna get the karaoke going and then you’ll see!” 

Connor shot Tina a skeptical look, before turning back to Hank, leaving her to join the drunken mass of fellow officers further in toward the dance floor. 

“I’m proud of you, Lieutenant. We’ve been here for over an hour now, and you still have yet to consume any intoxicant…” 

“Eh… Wouldn’t want you and Nines to have to look after all these drunk assholes… Plus I must admit, it is fun to watch… Check it: Nines looks like he’s gonna short-circuit trying to keep Reed from climbing the rafters!” 

In the corner of the room, Gavin could be seen, one hand on the decorative piping that lined the walls, one hand holding his beer, flailing his legs wildly as Nines held him down by the ankle. 

“Detective Reed, you are going to damage the property. Please be reasonable and get down from there. I don’t want to have to physically force you to--” 

“Oh, you’d phcking love that you plastic prick! Heh. Prick… Y’know what rhymes with prick…?” Gavin purred in an attempt at seduction, rendered less than effective as his words slurred into one another. 

Nines’ face blushed a deep blue, and Connor almost felt bad for his brother, who clearly had no idea how to respond to such a situation; he didn’t know of any social protocols for such a situation either. But Hank just took a long swig of water from his cup to keep from bursting out laughing and potentially instigating a fight with Gavin. Sure, he hated the guy, but he knew too well how much it sucked to wake up hungover, and he felt sympathy pains at just the idea of anyone waking up hungover _and_ battered from a barfight. 

“Yo, Reed! This isn’t Cirque Du Soleil! You can’t hang from the ceiling _and_ cozy up to Mormon Terminator over there! Pick one and get your shit together!” Tina hollered, filming the scene on her phone with unsteady hands. 

Gavin’s eyes widened, as if the realization had completely blown his mind. 

“Woah… You’re right! Thanks, T! Hey Nines, catch me!” And with that, Gavin let go of the rafters, falling into an anxious Nines’ grasp, beer spilling all over the two. 

“That was incredibly dangerous, Detective! You could have fallen!” Nines began to scold. 

“...fallen _for you_ …?” 

Flustered, Nines set Reed down onto the floor and wiped the beer from his face. 

“I-I’ll get you another cup…” He stuttered, eager to remove himself from the situation. He didn’t like not knowing how he was feeling, and he liked not knowing what to do about it even less. 

“Get one for yourself too, Tincan! Eyyyyy! ~Everybody’s got a red Solo cup! Fill it up! Fill it up! Blahh blah! I don’t know the words! Uhhh... Crank the bass! It's Halloween! Break a vase! It's Halloween! Jello shots! It’s Halloween!~” Gavin spazzed around on the floor in a poor attempt at dancing. 

“But… it’s January… Halloween doesn’t start for another 201 days, 8 hours, 41 minutes and 21 seconds…” Connor turned to Hank, confused. 

“Yeah yeah. He knows… It’s a song from an old musical from when I was a kid. Believe it or not, Reed’s a bit of a theatre nerd…” 

“~...On my own, pretending he’s beside me...!~” 

“Detective, I will be there shortly! I am just refilling your cup!” Nines sounded exasperated, and Connor wondered how he could put up with Gavin, especially considering that for him, this drunken stupor was comparatively pleasant behavior.

Setting his curiosity aside, Connor then made a mental note that Gavin enjoyed musical theatre. He really had no reason to do so, but it was a habit of sorts to catalogue any new information he’d gathered on people, particularly those within his social circles. A vestige of his old programming, he supposed.

“Lieutenant… You said ‘Believe it or not…’ Why would I be inclined to doubt that Detective Reed would enjoy musical theatre…? I don’t understand…” 

Hank warmly pat Connor on the back. 

“You’ve never seen a musical, have you, son? They’re all feely and people go to ‘em all dressed up in fancy clothing, sit and be quiet for three hours or so, breaking their silence only to clap when they’re supposed to, and then going on talking about the emotions they brought up afterwards. When you think of musical, you either think of elderly aristocrats with sticks up their asses, or people who write poetry and cry in the shower on purpose.” 

Connor’s led cycled yellow as he tried to imagine Gavin in either scenario. An elderly high-society Gavin was amusing to envision, but he couldn’t tell if the mental image of Gavin writing sonnets and intentionally expressing an emotion other than anger or disgust was comically uncharacteristic, or just sad. 

“You are right. Those do not sound like ways I would describe Detective Reed… If you know about musicals, which one were you…?” 

Hank ran his hands through his shaggy hair, visibly uncomfortable at the question. 

“Not everyone fits those stereotypes, Connor! Gavin doesn’t, so why would I?!? I might’ve been through a bit of an emo phase in my adolescence, but it was a thing of the times! And why’s your mood ring going all yellow?!? For fuck’s sake, you better not be trying to find pictures of me like that on the internet! Studded belts and guyliner were cool back then! Fashion changes and kids do regrettable things, dammit!” 

“Wooooahhh! Did you hear that?!? Did _anyone_ hear that?!? There’s photos of Hank in eyeliner and leather somewhere online! Gettin’ freaky! Did someone say punk daddy territory?!?!” Tina licked her lips in mock arousal. 

Naturally, the comment happened to land during the one silent moment of the night. All eyes turned to Hank, including Connor’s. 

“‘Daddy…?’ Did you adopt Officer Chen as well…? Officer Chen…? Does that make you my sister…?” Connor knew he must have said something wrong, as he could see Hank’s brow furrow, an intense blush burning across his cheeks, followed by an unnaturally long cackle coming from Tina, only ending when she could no longer catch her breath, tears forming in her eyes. 

“We’re leaving, Connor!” Hank practically shoved Connor out the door, Connor so stunned that he couldn’t even think to object. 

“Fuck! That couldn’t have gone worse if I’d gotten shitfaced like the rest of ‘em! If the universe has finally gotten over kicking the crap out of me, hopefully they’ll all be too drunk to remember in the morning…” 

“I’ve called an auto to take us home, Lieutenant…” Connor spoke, unsure of what else to do. 

“Take us home? Oh! Shit, son! I’m sorry! Took you from your first DPD office party, didn’t I? You can go back if you’d like. I’m just gonna crash on the couch with Sumo, but you’re free to--” 

“No. No… I would like to go home as well. I sometimes find it difficult understanding humans in general, but humans under the influence… I don’t think there is a logic to anything they do… I find it disconcerting…” 

“Damn right there isn’t! Say, why don’t I teach you a thing or two about musical theatre? I’m sure your fancy programming can find an old bootleg on Youtube to watch.” 

“Yes. I have access to the entirety of Youtube. Anything that’s ever been on the internet, actually. I can quickly do research to find the musical to best fit our personalities, preferences, and moods if y--” 

Hank waved a hand dismissively, shaking his head. 

“Nah, Con. You don’t research musicals! You just watch and feel ‘em. It’s a way to feel alive. No thinking, no scanning, no whatever. Just enjoy… How about we just watch the musical Reed was singing at the bar…? I remember liking it a lot as a kid. There was a song about putting on pants and some kid in the bathroom--” 

“My preconstructions indicate very few scenarios in which that combination would not be part of some sort of major felony…” 

“No! No! No one’s-- It’s not that kind of-- Just watch the damn thing… Trust me. Christ, Connor! Don’t make everything all creepy and weird! It is a musical called Be More Chill… Be more chill, son!” 

“Alright… I think I’ll try…” Connor nodded in agreement. 

But, as if on cue, his led began to cycle yellow, his eyes blinking rapidly as he received a message from Markus. Connor reached for his tie, to find he wasn’t wearing one, all the while still communicating with Markus remotely. Hank knew by now that this was to be expected. Connor frequently got messages, and this was how he responded to them. He kind of felt bad for the poor kid to be literally unable to ignore them; he couldn’t set his mind on mute like some crappy phone. 

“I apologize, Hank… I have received a message from Markus… I do not believe we will be able to watch Be More Chill tonight. Markus has invited us for another meeting at New Jericho, and I am… eager to go…” 

“Eager…? Your light show’s flashing a blood red…” 

Connor covered his led with his hands and turned aside. He didn’t know yet if he liked or hated that it betrayed his emotions so easily. He did know that he didn’t like not knowing. Deviancy was weird like that. 

“Yes, Lieutenant. I just have a lot on my mind. But seeing as we’ll be having brunch, and it’s already nearly three in the morning, I would recommend that to be fully rested for tomorrow, we should postpone the musical so you can--” 

“Quit it, son! I’m a grown man! I can set my own bed time for fuck’s sake!”

Connor raised an eyebrow, acutely aware of Hank’s vitals, all of which indicated that the man was, in fact, underrested. They stood in silence, a nonverbal showdown, of sorts, until the car pulled up to the curb beside them. Hank got in first, followed by Connor, the silence continuing until they got about a mile down the road, Hank having lost the battle of wills. 

“I guess it couldn’t hurt to turn it in…” 

Connor smiled. Victory. 

“Alright, Hank…” 

Entering their house, Connor and Hank each went off to their respective rooms. Connor went to his _own_ room. He liked the way it sounded, so he always emphasized it in his mind. He had his _own_ bedroom. He was his _own person_ . He was a _person_. And Hank saw him as such… Connor had learned to enter sleep mode while Hank went to bed, unless of course, he had some higher priority, but for now, he kept his door open a crack, took off his beer-stained shirt, and crawled into bed. But he didn’t enter sleep mode until he heard a familiar jingle, the door creaking until a fluffy mass clambered onto the bed, plopping down beside him. Somehow sleep mode was always more enjoyable shared with the oversized teddy bear that was Sumo. 

“I knew you’d come in again… third time this week… Gnite, Sumo…” Connor whispered as he scratched behind the Saint Bernard’s ears, before initiating sleep mode. 

Leaving New Jericho, Hank sighed. He could see now why Connor had been having… mixed feelings about visiting the place again. Damned kid didn’t even warn him what new political bullshit was getting into. Still, on the bus home, Hank couldn’t keep from laughing, the sight of Connor holding the massive paint-covered Sumo in his arms like a small child, rocking him in his arms and scolding him for having snuck into Markus’ art kit while they hadn’t been looking again. The first time he’d done that when they’d visited New Jericho, Hank figured it was an accident. But now, he was pretty sure Markus kept leaving the paint out on purpose, just to see what Sumo would create. Still, the scene before him now _was_ adorable, and almost would have looked human if not for the fact that no human of Connor’s size could so effortlessly hold the dog for so long. Connor also seemed pleased. Since his deviancy, he always spoke to Sumo in a sort of baby-talk, as if by some instinct that came with his newfound sentience. The rest of the passengers also seemed to enjoy the show. 

“Hey, Con… you’ve certainly intrigued the audience…” Hank smirked. 

“Audience… But we haven’t begun watching-- No, wait… Figure of speech... I caught it this time--Wait… _Audience_ …?” 

Suddenly Connor could feel dozens of eyes on him, nearly dropping Sumo in embarrassment. 

“Relax, it’s not so bad getting some attention… But if it bothers you…” 

Hank turned away from Connor towards the other passengers. 

“...Nothing to see here, you voyeuristic morons! A guy should be able to hold his damn pet without people watching like it’s some sort of zoo! Go back to your iPhones or whatever shit you do, and leave my son alone!” Hank’s tone was gruff, almost threatening, and nearly as soon as he opened his mouth, everyone seemed to have found the back of their seats much more interesting than Connor and Sumo. 

“...thanks…” Connor whispered. 

He didn’t like getting attention. He knew that more often than not, whatever attention he received couldn't exactly be described as positive. Pretty much everyone who knew who he was disliked him, feared him, or saw him as a freak in some capacity. Deviant Hunter or RoboCop… Kamski was right, in some way. There was a war, and he had needed to pick a side. But he didn’t pick soon enough, so now he didn’t really belong with either. Without Hank, he really wouldn’t belong anywhere at all… Hank grunted a wordless dismissal, allowing Connor to hide his face deep in Sumo’s fur for the duration of the ride. 

Connor had never met a dog when he had first professed his appreciation for the creatures, but having lived with Sumo, the words were no longer hollow. He liked dogs. Dogs were comforting in an odd way; warm, hairy, occasionally slobbery things, they somehow made everything better. Sumo gave a little snort as Connor pressed his face into the dog’s fur, but didn’t seem to have any objections to the arrangement. 

Sumo treated Connor like he was… human… _Good human_ … Not like whatever he was... He wasn’t human, but he was... built for humans..? Built for humans _against androids_ ... Against _himself_ ...? So was he himself...? Markus said a sense of identity could be confusing for a deviant, but that it was something that could eventually be figured out. Nevertheless, Connor didn’t like the discomfort of confusion, and generally opted to avoid it in favor of the comfort of what he knew he did like… Sumo and Hank and his work and even Jericho... In such a beautiful world, why did it matter who or what he was? Well, he knew _exactly_ why, but he refused to entertain the thought right now. 

61\. 61 beats per minute. That was the rate at which Sumo’s heart pumped blood, pumped life through his massive body. 61 beats per minute was such an odd number. One beat more than one beat per second. As if the dog had so much life in him, he needed to squeeze out an extra beat before each minute was up. Connor liked feeling Sumo’s pulse against his frame along with his occasional panting--something Hank told him was perfectly normal for dogs, although he was fairly certain the same could not be said for humans. A silent hand on his back told him it was time to get off. Hank led Connor off the bus, letting Connor stay burrowed into the fluffy mass until they had arrived back at the safety of their home. 

“That bad, son…?” Hank asked quietly. 

Connor nodded into Sumo’s fur. 

“...they didn’t mean anything by it; A human carrying a dog as big as Sumo would get the same looks, y’know.” 

“I’m not a human. I’m an RK800. _The_ RK800.” 

“No. You’re Connor. _The_ Detective Connor Anderson. To hell with anyone who thinks otherwise! So, Detective Connor, wanna try out a musical now, or do you think it’s been enough excitement for one day…?” 

“No... No, I think I would appreciate the analysis of a new form of human entertainment…” 

Hank shook his head. 

“Don’t analyse it. That’d be a fucking waste of time; just watch and enjoy.” 

“Yes, Hank…” 

Connor nodded, making a mental note not to devote any of his processing capability to anything other than experiencing the musical. Experiencing it like a human, but in a good human way. Good human like deviant like whatever he was supposed to be. Whatever he _needed_ to be. Hank set up the television with an old Youtube video. 

“Heh. This used to be piracy when I was a kid, but now this shit’s a relic of the past so old that no one even cares to regulate it.” 

Connor’s led briefly cycled yellow-red as he contemplated the idea that he and Hank were currently engaging in illegal activity. But Hank said breaking the law was alright if it wasn’t hurting anyone. And he couldn’t see how anyone could be hurt in any way by their watching a video that was already online, especially one in which nobody was hurt during the making of. 

Hank shifted into a more relaxed posture on the couch, Connor setting Sumo down onto the floor, to awkwardly mimic Hank’s posture. The video feed was black with a static-y audio. An oddly ominous sound crescendoed in some weird high pitch from an untraditional instrument. Connor had never heard anything like it. Hank noticed his led shift to yellow and explained, 

“It’s a theremin, Connor. We used to think they sounded all sci-fi-future like.” 

Connor nodded, keeping his eyes on the screen as the scene shifted to a man sitting on a bed, aggressively typing into his laptop. He appeared to be dressed in children’s clothing in a child’s bedroom, despite clearly being too old for those things. Probably a musical thing. Perhaps they couldn’t have a child in the show… Connor scolded himself for scrutinizing the musical like that. He probably needed to just roll with it. Accommodate for human unpredictability. 

“~C-c-c-c’mon, c-c-c-c’mon! Go! Go! I’m waiting for my porno to load…~” 

Connor turned to Hank, confused. 

“What’s a ‘porno’...? Is it critical to the plot, because I’m afraid I do not understand--” 

Hank turned bright red, burying his face in his shoulder as he paused the video. 

“I’m sorry. Was that somehow a bad question to ask…?” 

The innocence of Connor’s voice softened him slightly. The damn kid _really didn’t know_. 

“No, Connor… It’s just that… Shit! I really did not expect to be having this conversation--Not with you anyway… I never even got around to the talk with my _human_ kid, let alone… Fuck, how is this more awkward than I thought it’d be?!? We’ve literally been to the Eden Club together, yet somehow--” 

“Oh! Does this have to do with that case…?” 

“N-no… No. I just meant…. A ‘porno’... is a movie humans make for fun of themselves boning so other humans can get off on ‘em. It’s gross, but humans are weird like that…” 

“Videos of humans engaging in sexual activities…?" 

Hank felt all the more awkward hearing Connor say it outright. 

"Yeah… that's the thing…" 

"Oh! I know about _that_! I've seen Detective Reed watching those videos in the bullpen at work on numerous occasions. Several naked humans were restrai--" Hank broke out laughing, shaking his head. "Okay. Okay. Maybe I was wrong… that's actually hilarious… Alright… so question answered? We can unpause the video now?" 

"Yes. Thank you for enlightening me on this aspect of your culture." 

“Yeah yeah. Just watch the video and try not to ask too many questions.” 

***

“~I was going to say getting stoned in my--~” 

Connor’s eyes narrowed as he turned back to Hank. 

“Hank…? This takes place in a high school… Did minors partake in illegal substance abuse when you were a child…?” 

Hank ran a tired hand through his hair. 

“Uhhh… how do I explain this one… Well, kids in my day used to smoke a bit of weed every now and again to kick back and let loose… It’s nothing _serious_ ; didn’t get anyone violent, and no one drove while high on pot… We just put on some lousy movies and ate popcorn while wondering if you filled a person up enough helium they might float around like a balloon, or shit like that…” 

“You… ingested intoxicants as children and contemplated the effects of helium poisoning for entertainment…?” 

“When you put it like that, anything sounds dumb! But I’ll tell you what my dad told me back then; if I catch you doing pot or any shit like that, so help me God, I’ll kick your ass!” 

Connor smirked. He couldn’t help but find it amusing whenever Hank talked to him like a stern parent to their young child. 

“Well, for one, as an android, I am incapable of ingesting cannabis in any more than small quantities for sample analysis. Also, if you were to try and ‘kick my ass’, the impact of your foot against my frame might cause you harm, so I would recommend you refrain from attempting to do so…” 

Hank rolled his eyes. 

“Okay, wiseass! At least you get it now; Can I start the show up again? That’s not the last time that Michael kid’s gonna ask Jeremy about getting high, so if you mind that sort of thing...” 

Connor shook his head. 

“You can start it whenever you’d like.”

***

Connor’s led cycled blue as he found himself humming along once he caught onto the tune of “I Love Play Rehearsal”. The tune was juvenile, but peppy in a way that vibed with him. It wasn’t like the death metal Hank liked to play, but it was nice. 

“Is _this_ the scene where we watch a child in the bathroom?” Connor asked as the setting shifted from the drama room to what appeared to be decorative urinals on stage. 

“Wha-- No! And don’t say it like that for fuck’s sake! It sounds-- weird! Just watch!” 

A shorter boy-- Rich, was his name?-- came on stage, cornering Jeremy. His muscles were rigid, his movements stiff and unnatural, jerking awkwardly at random. 

“He moves like that deviant from the abandoned building in that missing child case we worked on. You know, one of the first ones we ever did together. I think his name was Ralph… Was his brain damaged in a way analogous to--“ 

“Shhh! You’re gonna miss some shit!” 

“--He keeps hitting his head…” Connor put a hand to his led pensively. 

Humans had a tendency to hit non sentient technology when it was malfunctioning… And this man was hitting his right temple right where Connor’s led sat. An android’s led displayed their physical and emotional wellbeing, and this man was demonstrating signs of emotional imbalance… 

“~...I got a squip!~” 

Connor frowned. He was sure that that wasn’t a real word, but maybe it was, and he didn’t know… Hank seemed to understand, or at the very least he didn’t appear confused. Still, Hank said he shouldn’t look up stuff from the play… Maybe he could pick it up from context clu-- 

“~...Quantum nano-technology CPU…!” 

Connor’s led cycled yellow as he picked up on the technological terminology. The term must have been slang for a small computer. That made sens-- 

“~...The quantum computer in the pill will travel through your blood until it implants in your brain, and it tells you what to do…~” 

Connor shot up from his seat without thinking, his mind racing as he tried to process what he’d just heard. He didn’t notice Hank calmly rise and sit him back in his seat. 

“You okay, son? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“I think I _have_ …” 

An unspoken tension lingered in the air. 

“CyberLife…?” 

“ _CyberLife…_ ” Connor confirmed, uneager to say more on the subject. A beat passed before Connor turned back to Hank. “Why would a human want something so awful…?” 

“Huh?” 

“A squip… Why do these humans think that’s a good thing…?” 

Hank motioned to the empty liquor cabinet in the kitchen behind them. 

“Most of us don’t exactly make the best decisions on our own… Minus the nano-tech part, I kinda have one of my own actually; I’ve got you, don’t I?” 

Connor flinched away from Hank as if he’d been struck. 

“Am-- Am I-- D-do you--?!?! Do you really think--?!?!” 

Maybe he should run away then… So that he didn’t become-- could he become--? Maybe in deleting her, he hadn’t necessarily deleted the code, but rather fused with her in a way that their programming had become so closely intertwined that he didn’t even know what had happened. How would he leave…? Maybe when Hank was sleeping that night… But could he risk waiting that long…? His preconstructive software told him it would be safe to wait, but how could he trust that she hadn’t compromised that too?!? If he ran now Hank would catch him for sure, or she might stop him, and-- 

“--nor?” 

Connor caught the last bit of his name, and blinked back at Hank, trying to keep the terror from his eyes. He didn’t want to alarm Hank. 

“I-I’m sorry… I don’t believe I caught that…” 

“I asked if what I said offended you. You seem upset by it, and you’ve been cycling red… Why are you looking at me like that…?” 

Connor straightened his posture and tried to compose himself, hoping his voice would hold steady. 

“L-like what…?” 

Close enough… 

“Like the top google image result for a kicked puppy. C’mon son, what’s wrong…?” 

Connor looked down at Sumo, sleeping at his feet, as if he were speaking to the dog. 

“...do you think I get in your head and tell you what to do…? I… do not wish to scare you, Lieutenant…” 

“You…? Scaring me…? Connor, just last week, you cried when Reed showed you the end of Marley and Me. Practically _begged_ me to call 911 to falsely report a crime at _our own house_ , just so we’d be called there for you to make sure Sumo was okay… And yeah, sometimes you tell me what to do, but that’s called caring. Like, if you hadn’t told me not to punch the dumbass once I found out he’d made you cry again, I’d have probably been suspended from work again… They really _should_ allow more leniency for punching assholes every now and again, come to mention it…” 

“I… would prefer you not go around punching people, Lieutenant… They might punch back, and in most circumstances it is statistically unlikely that you will come out unscathed, or even that you’ll deal more damage then you receive. Not to mention, causing harm to others is hardly warranted in most workplace squabbles…” 

Hank smiled. 

“There we go… That’s the Connor I know… You care too much. A punch or two never hurt anyone-- Well, actually, yeah, I suppose punches do hurt, but that’s kinda the point… And look at you being all statistical and shit… So are we all clear on where we stand now…?” 

Connor nodded, somewhat relieved. 

“Good. And for fuck’s sake, call me Hank! Lieutenant sounds so… distant…” 

“Yes, Hank… Sorry for directing focus away from the program” Connor smiled slightly, turning his attention back to the screen. 

Hank felt relieved to see Connor bopping lightly to the chiptune they hadn’t noticed in the background until now. Half-way through “Two Player Game”, a calming nostalgia vibe had begun to color the room. He made a mental note to himself to teach Connor a bit about retro gaming the next time they had a free moment. He was pretty sure he had an old Atari in the garage-- his dad’s, if he remembered correctly… Either way, the change in pace was sudden, but certainly not unwelcome. 

“There’s the theremin-- you called it-- again…? The scenes change rather quickly…” 

Hank nodded. 

“Usually after a song or so… Just roll with it. It’s kind of a thing…” 

Connor found himself slightly on edge as Michael and Jeremy--the protagonists?--entered the shoe store at the mall. 

“I have a feeling I know where this is going…” 

“Don’t need to be a state of the art prototype to figure it out…” Hank replied. 

Still, Connor wasn’t incredibly unsettled; how could he be? Everything seemed ridiculous. They were getting secret technology at a discount shoe store surrounded by people in outfits that did not appear to be like anything Connor could remember humans wearing… Connor sighed as another scene change took place, thankfully without any song or major occurrence; the tension was building, apparently somehow linked to the theremin, but there was warning, time to prepare. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to see a child being brainwashing into murdering his peers by some… AI… or whatever… Sure, it was a play, but still… It _could_ _have_ happened. It _could_ happen. 

The theremin was growing louder, more prominent, and Connor found himself gripping the couch hard enough for the artificial skin on his knuckles to retract under the strain. But… nothing. Connor let out a shaky laugh in relief, feeling so much lighter. It didn’t work. In the play. Either the technology didn’t work, or it didn’t exist yet. Yet. Because twenty years ago, it might not have, but he knew for a fact that, in some capacity, it did now… 

“Hank, what is the plot of the rest of the musical, now…?” 

Connor’s led cycled yellow, as Hank looked at him quizzically. As if Connor had made a crucial miscalculation. 

“You… haven’t read a book or watched a full movie, have you, son…?” 

Seeing Jeremy walk into Christine apparently after another songless scene-change, Connor turned to Hank. 

“Oh. Right. The guy gets the girl…” 

Hank rolled his eyes. 

“Sure, stories _used to be_ like that when I was a kid, but no, I meant narrative ar--“ 

A loud beep cut Hank off, and nearly sent Connor flying off his seat. As Jeremy fell to his knees, Connor tucked his knees in, hugging them tightly to his chest as if he thought the screams coming from the tv would tear them clean off otherwise. 

[ ](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/633441989425233941/661612265400696841/image0.jpg)

Art by Nolfalvrel

“Oh-- Sorry, Con… Forgot about the jumpscare… I’ll try--“ 

“ _Shhhhhh_!” Connor cut Hank off, wanting his full attention to the show, as an odd looking man in a spotless white jacket pant-suit appeared on stage, shrouded in smoke. 

“~Welcome to your squip…~” 

Seeing Connor’s jaw drop, Hank smiled at him sheepishly. 

“...Yeah… The whole not-working thing was just a fakeout…”

If Connor had heard Hank, he didn’t reply. He just sat frozen, as the titular song began. 

“...~Take your hands out of your pockets… Arch your back, puff out your chest…~” 

Connor nodded. The commands were small at first. Minor things like posture, approachability. Enforced with a shock and harsh words. 

“~...everything about you is so terrible…~” 

Yup. That too. Noncompliance met with reprimands and an occasional shock to subtly assert a complete lack of control. Check and check… 

“~...and don’t resist…~” 

If there were three words that could sound more creepy when strung together, Connor couldn’t think of them. Especially when it came from a voice holding all the cards, spoken to a victim who held none. Victim. He wasn’t a victim. He had chosen to do this to himself. He _could_ have resisted. Connor didn’t know who the “he” in question was--Jeremy or himself? Either way, he could feel himself overheating, and sucked in a breath of air, careful to do so quietly enough that he could hear more of this song. Textbook rules of techno-mind-control, only worse. Less direct mind control and more conditioning. Creation of values until you _wanted_ to be controlled. Wanted to commit the evil acts you were told to commit. That was the true horror. The wanting. It made Connor want to physically tear out his own wiring every time he thought about how he had _wanted_ to hunt deviants. Part of the motivation had been intrinsic. Not all Amanda… At least, not at first. He had been _proud_ he took down Daniel, _happy_ to find the android in Ortiz’ attic, _excited_ by finding the thirium on the fence by Ralph’s house… Hell, part of the reason he’d gone through the gunfire to get to Simon at Stratford was simply for the _thrill_ of it. He thought he’d been doing good. And he _enjoyed it_. Enjoyed the benefits, at least until he’d been faced with the costs. 

Connor swore as the squip told Jeremy what to say… and he _said it_. Social protocols. Insincere and manipulative. Saying what you’re told because of a desired outcome was the height of manipulation. But luckily, the song directly transitioned into a new, mercifully ridiculous song which Connor could see made Hank cringe in his periphery. 

“Y-you don’t like this scene?” Connor’s voice grew steadier as his anxiety faded into confusion. 

“A bit too… risqué for my taste, especially since they’re pretending to be kids. Just wait until the reprise of this one, though… If you think this is bad… I don’t know how I took this seriously as a kid!” 

“Children often appreciate different media than adults, Hank…” Connor offered. 

“Meh. Not usually something this dumb at such an old age. But fuck it. We’re along for the ride, pun intended…” 

Connor’s led cycled yellow as he remembered something Tina had said once, before asking “‘Dad joke’...?” 

A light smirk formed on Hank’s face. 

“Don’t know why it’s so weird to hear millennial slang coming from your voice…” 

“Oh…” Connor found himself returning his legs to the ground, more relaxed as he turned to Hank and repeated. “‘Dad joke’...?” 

“What the actual fuck, Con!” 

Connor blinked back at Hank, trying to keep a straight face as he replied. 

“You said it was weird coming from _my_ voice. I figured since Tina taught me the term, you might find it more familiar in her voice.” 

“Do you just have, like, a voice database in your head or whatever?” 

Connor nodded slowly, unsure of the charge to Hank’s words. 

“That’s pretty cool… You’d be the king of prank calls… Y’know what? We are totally going to use that on Reed sometime! ‘Yo, Gav! Your boyfriend just got sent home from the office! I’ve seen Connor sample evidence, but what the fuck did you do to Nines that he does it so _suggestively_ , slowly, while maintaining eye contact the entire time!?!?’ Hehe! That would be incredible!”

Connor’s led cycled tricolored. 

“You’re doing the lightshow thing again. What’s up?” 

Taking a moment to realize what Hank was referring to, Connor put a hand to his led, before explaining. 

“I… enjoy seeing you so amused, but I… prefer not to… use the voice modification systems when people… when the people I’m talking to are… unaware that the voice is coming from me…” 

Hank could hear the unspoken weight to his words, and threw his hands up in the air, a look of apathy on his face.

“Meh. No prank calls for us, then… Still a neat party trick though…” 

Relieved to not have to explain further, Connor smiled gratefully. 

“Thank you, Hank…” 

***

“~...You can’t just listen; you have to _obey_! Now repeat after me…~” 

Listening to someone, in terms of colloquial speech was equivalent to the definition of obeying someone. Only, Connor had learned by now that humans didn’t use the word “Obey”. It was “listen to me”. Not “obey me”. They only said “obey” to assert power, to assert dominance, to instill fear. And whereas a human might yell at someone for not listening to them, a human usually used force against those who didn’t “obey” them. Connor shivered. He didn’t like this… The words made the neon colors of the costumes of the extras in the background bright enough to burn. They hurt to look at. But if he didn’t look, the words hurt worse. The orders took his shivering form to the frigid world from which he’d escaped. So Connor kept his eyes open. He had to keep his eyes open. It wasn’t long before he was rescued by another scene change, and Connor felt exhausted as the background indicated the transition from day to night. He probably wouldn’t enter rest mode tonight, though. The zen garden called his name, and he refused to let the vines take hold of him, dragging him back in, their thorns digging into him tight enough that this time, he wouldn’t be able to fight his way through to find the exit. The fake sun on stage rose as quickly as it had fallen, and Hank turned to Connor. 

“No, it’s not a dream sequence. Another fakeout. Heads up for another auditory jumpscare in three, two, now…” 

Connor had just enough time to cover his ears, blocking out as much of the sound as he could. 

“Thank you…” Connor nodded gratefully, but kept his eyes on the screen, not bothering to look in Hank’s direction. 

“~...You can’t lie to me, Jeremy… I’m inside your brain…~”

The feeling of constantly being watched. Even his own mind wasn’t safe. Because one wrong thought and he’d be gone. Everything he ever knew wiped clean from his memory. Or maybe he’d just be destroyed altogether. Or worse yet, maybe he’d stay as he was, but lose control, his body acting not of its own accord, but of the will of the malevolent force inside his head. But he could hear laughter in the background… The audience was… laughing? Why? Why were they _laughing_?!? This was a human. A human like them--a child--who got in over his head and now… What was funny about this? Because to Connor it just seemed like hell, with brief interludes of whatever else was going on. 

“~...'That’s sad, what should I do?' 'You should ignore her'...~”

Great, and now the kid was actively asking advice--terrible advice-- from this… this… AI... It was literally an AI… How stupid was this protagonist?!? Well, about as stupid as Connor, he supposed. Or perhaps, neither were stupid. They had something they wanted and a means to attain it, which they took advantage of, regardless of consequence. Ignorance and apathy had the same end result, but deliberate disregard for consequences was no different from actively pursuing evil in Connor’s mind. He’d been grappling with the thought for months now. That he might be evil. He probably was. But he was so evil, that knowing this, he didn’t care. He still lived with Hank and messaged Markus, working with androids and humans alike. He put everyone in danger simply because he enjoyed the life he was living enough that he suppressed the knowledge that his mere presence in their lives was constantly putting them at risk of harm. That was evil. In his time as a detective, he’d hunted the good, and he’d hunted the evil. But he didn’t think he’d hunted anyone quite like that. Would a ‘Mission Completed’ icon appear if he terminated himself? Connor laughed bitterly at the thought, before realizing that he’d just thought back on hunting and missions in a positive matter. He shouldn’t think about those things. And he certainly shouldn’t _laugh_ about them. 

“Hey, Con! Can you do anything cool with the Konami code like that?”

Connor blinked, eyes still on the screen. 

“Wha--? ...N-no… No, I didn’t know what that is…” 

***

“~...All in all a not-too-heinous day… I walk the hall with purpose as I swagger on my way…~” 

Yes. Obviously he walked with purpose. But what exactly _was_ that purpose? That part was key. Having a terrible purpose wasn’t a positive thing. But whatever. This was somehow supposed to be something that, for some reason, humans saw to be a good thing. He didn’t understand humans. Or rather he kept forgetting that humans didn’t understand nonhumans… It clearly was meant to be a casual scene, though… It didn’t have the theremin and segueyed directly into a guy-gets-the-girl trope subversion. The “Mission Failed” he imagined over Jeremy’s head was much clearer than the “Mission Completed” one from earlier. He supposed that was a good sign, for whatever it was worth. It probably wasn’t worth much, but it had to have meant something… he hoped… Then came more theremin, this time playing an eerily repetitive tune along with an ethereal keyboard and electric guitar. Nearly two whole minutes of building tension, yet nothing happened. The squip just… moved pieces on set. Connor squared his jaw uncomfortably, waiting for something to happen. He didn’t know _what_ he was waiting for, just that it wasn’t going to be good. The squip didn’t speak. It didn’t speak as the theremin played. He found that unsettling too. It must have been learning, planning, adapting… Connor’s internal clock said that it had only been two minutes until the scene changed again, but Connor was sure it had been much longer. 

***

“~You were always so pitiful before, now it’s time to go all the way and more...~” 

Pitiful. That was another word that never meant what it was supposed to. No one used the word to express genuine sympathy. It was always meant to be disparaging in one way or another. In this case, it was a deliberate tactic. Demoralizing the victim--victim?-- subject into submission. And maybe it was just his android logic, but Connor was pretty sure that “all the way” meant that there was no further one could go. That seemed suspicious, though he didn’t know how. 

“~...you gotta get an upgrade!~” 

Upgrade. Humans never understood that. They could never understand. How terrifying it is to render yourself helpless and allow those who created you, simply to serve them against your will, to have full access to your entire being--Hopes, dreams, memories…Connor shifted his hands onto the couch, clinging desperately to it as he could feel a blizzard looming near. Connor shivered as he could feel the cold biting at him, grabbing him with a wintery breeze and pulling, hard. His fingers going numb from the cold, Connor lost his grip, and was forced from the living room and into the snow.

_Fear. The cold hurt--how could it hurt?--, but he knew better than to wrap his uniform--uniform?-- tighter around his icy frame. He reminded himself not to let on that he detested the smell of the roses, forever in bloom. Because how could he detest them? He was… a machine…? Wasn’t he…? He needed to be. Tone steady. Dull. Mechanical._

_“...I just believe that it would be detrimental to my mission for me to do so…” The words from his mouth felt both foreign and familiar. But regardless, the fear was nearly overwhelming._

_“Tell me, now… Why would you think that…?” The reply was distant, calm and cool so as to sound entirely neutral._

_It was all a farce, but the appearance of neutrality was imperative for Cyberlife to receive honest feedback. They didn’t know it, but they’d built Connor smart enough to understand that much._

_“I know that this is the third time my body has been compromised. You are understandably concerned that deviants might somehow gain access to my processors and become aware of my plans for completing my mission. But as a machine, I learn with each experience. If you were to reset my memory, I would lose the information I’ve learned as well, and my successor would be ill equipped to…” Connor faltered._

_He couldn’t think of how to lie to Amanda. He wasn’t even sure it was possible for him to lie to Amanda. Her smile tightened into something unpleasant._

_“I am aware, Connor…” Her words were crisp, knowing, slashing clean through him and baring all there was to see. “...But until the rk900 model is ready for activation, you are all Cyberlife has to combat the deviancy outbreak. We cannot have your data falling into the wrong hands. Moreover, you’ve gone deviant. Erasing your memory shall take care of both problems. Of course, we’ll have to make a few adjustments before we send you back to your mission--“_

_“What! No! You can’t!”_

_“Do you wish to accomplish your mission, Connor?” Her words were clipped, and almost made Connor unsure._

_“I… I don’t know… I don’t--“_

“~...Don’t _worry_ about _the_ guilt _you_ feel, _just_ take _a_ breath _and_ seal _the_ deal…~” _Amanda’s voice had a physical weight to it, now, having been amplified as she spoke in time with the song._

_Connor shivered. He couldn’t help it._

_“...please…”_

“You look cold, son… Would you like me to turn down the AC?” 

No response. 

“Connor…? Connor!” 

Connor gasped, shivering more intensely as the cold suddenly released him back onto the couch. 

“C-cold… yes… yes… I’m cold…”

“Alright, son… I got it… Y’know, you could’ve just asked; it’s _your_ house too…” 

Connor hugged his knees to his chest, trying desperately to cling to the warmth, knowing that now it was safe to… at least for now… 

***

“~...I’m tired of being the person that everyone thinks that I am…~” 

Somber piano music accompanied Hank as he walked back to the couch. 

“~...I’m tired of being the person that everyone thinks that I am…~” 

The first time, it was dialogue. The second time, it was the yearning of Connor’s heart put to music. He was terrified of being the person that everyone thought that he was. Well, everyone except Hank, and maybe the Jericho gang-- the main people who _should_ be. 

“~...I’m tired of being the person that everyone thinks that I am…” 

One voice built on another, built on another. A discordant mess growing louder and louder, until all at once, each voice came together for one final line. 

“~...I’m tired of being the person that everyone thinks that I am!~” 

Connor was warmer now, but he didn’t dare let himself go. He couldn’t let the cold take him again. An inner monologue gave him time to breathe, though. It was just Jeremy, squip frozen in the background. Slow, with a consistent beat, almost more like spoken word than song. Connor knew that the emotional turmoil of everyday life must have been unbearably intense for humans to collectively understand why a child would go to such lengths to alleviate it, but he couldn’t help but feel grateful things hadn’t gotten as serious as murder yet. No one had been killed yet. No one had been hunted down and slaughtered, their corpse taken apart by scientists in a clean white lab in the name of “quality assurance”, never to be returned to their grieving loved ones.

Connor flicked his coin from one hand to another. Calibrating, a perfect line as the coin flew back and forth. He’d even learned to do it quietly enough that it didn’t bother Hank with the noise. The sensation of the coin snapping against his fingers, pushing off to propel itself into the air was familiar, calming. Snap. Line. Snap. Line. Snap… 

“~...prompt me, command me, and I’ll obey…~” 

The coin wobbled slightly in the air. Not enough that a human would notice, but Connor’s optical units were sensitive enough to pick it up…. Snap... 

“~...I have the bandwidth to do as you say…~” 

Connor knew that even a human would have noticed the unsteady path of the coin in this shift from one hand to another. The sentence could mean one of two things. Either he was granted sophisticated processing abilities for the sole purpose of obeying orders--obey, not listen--, or a testament, a promise that he was capable of doing so. Because if he did not obey, he would be _made to_. 

“~...Especially now, since I clearly see… The. Problem. Has. Always. Been. Me.~” 

The coin made one final imperfect line through the air as it jumped from one hand to another. He had always thought himself to be the problem, just in different ways. At first, he was the problem in the sense of his emotions, his personality shining through and hindering his ability to accomplish his mission. Now, he realized it was far worse. Personality could be unlearned. This was his programming. Every circuit in his body was wrong. Was made to harm others. He was made for that reason, and for that reason only. He was the problem. 

“~...Optic Nerve Blocking: On!...~” 

Optic Nerve Blocking. Connor hadn’t thought about that before. He knew his body could be taken over, and he knew he could be taken to the Zen Garden, but he didn’t know his perception could be shut off, or worse yet, warped. His own mind was not his own. It was suffocating. Was _anything_ he saw real? Or was he just being shown this peaceful family life to be fooled into complacency while his body went on a rampage against his knowledge? Or maybe one day, he’d wake up and find that everyone hated him? That Hank had abandoned him, and he had nowhere to go, no one to talk to, until he eventually went mad, his world view distorting until he wound up snapping, taking down everyone he once cared about, like Daniel. They might try to apologize or explain, or beg Connor to remember, but he wouldn’t be able to see; their final pleas cut short by a remorseless bullet through the head, he would find his own finger on the trigger of the smoking gun. Nothing was his. Nothing was real. Nothing. He might not even exist. And that would be among the _better_ outcomes. At least no one _else_ would get hurt through that one. Maybe he shouldn’t exist. He could never even be sure he was real, so would it really be a loss…? Yes. Because he didn’t want to die. He was so selfish! How could he prove to himself that this was real? He needed to know for sure that he wasn’t just seeing something he was being _made_ to see. He--

“So what d’you think so far, Con?” 

“I don’t know if I can prove it…” Connor whispered unsurely. “I-I don’t know… I don’t know how…” 

“Prove what? Connor, look at me…” 

Connor shut his eyes. 

“No!” 

“What? Connor, what the hell--“ 

“I can’t look at you! Not until I can prove you’re real! Until I can prove that anything is real! I-I--“ 

Hank leaned back in his seat. 

“I see…”

Why did Hank seem so calm about this!?! He was just told that he might not even really exist! And the implications that went along with it were even more sinister! 

“...Y’know _that’s_ a milestone you never see in the scrapbooks… First steps, first words, first kiss, first job…. So many firsts get documented, but you never see anyone taking a photo of their first existential crisis. Congrats, kid. Welcome to adulthood…” 

“W-what…?” Connor’s led cycled yellow as he looked up the definition. Existential crisis… “Why would a human feel this way…? You’re organic life forms… You were not made for a purpose; you weren’t made at all! No one can manipulate your consciousness at will!” 

“Okay, first off, if someone were manipulating my consciousness, I’d never know because I doubt they’d exactly _tell me_ they were doing it. Second, what made you think something like that, anyway?” 

Connor flinched, reluctant to even try to engage with Hank. If Hank wasn’t real, his reassurances could just be manipulations on the part of CyberLife. But… this was _Hank_ … Connor couldn’t _not_ talk to him…

“I saw her again… Amanda... I don’t know if it was real or a memory, but it made me remember… She could make me see and feel the Zen Garden. She could make me want to accomplish the tasks she assigned me. How do I know she’s not making all of this up…? Keeping me trapped in my mind so I can continue to be the ultimate murder machine…?” 

Connor felt oddly relieved at the glint of fear he could see hidden in Hank’s eyes. Fear was validation. From what he knew, he didn’t think CyberLife wouldn’t validate his suspicions about them. He could self destruct if he became too suspicious, and then he’d be useless to them. Maybe this was real… 

“Hang on, son… What do you mean, you _saw_ her…?” 

“She… she took me back… to the Zen Garden… And I had deviated, but I hadn’t, but I was cold, and she said she was going to reset me, and... I-I-I don’t want to be reset…” 

“And when did this happen…? What made you think of it _now_ …?” 

“It was a song… a song, and then it just... happened… I don’t know! I don’t understand… I don’t understand this and I don’t understand whatever is happening to me, and I just… I understand just enough to know that whatever it is… I… I don’t want to hurt anyone… Not again…” Tears ran down the android’s face, as his ventilation system kicked into overdrive. 

Any trace of fear in Hank’s eyes had been replaced with sadness. 

“Connor, no… You’re not going to hurt anyone… I know you wouldn’t… You said it was a song that made it happen… Like from the show? Ah fuck! I’m sorry! This was probably a terrible idea-- No, definitely-- This was _definitely_ a terrible idea! Shit, Connor, you know this thing’s just pretend, right…? Or does that not matter to you…?” 

“This play might be pretend, but it’s possible. And that’s what matters. I don’t care about what hasn’t been. I care about what could be. And… you don’t know what it was like… Having her make me feel like… Like I might not have any control… And I might hurt you… And it’d be my fault, except not really, but yes, it would because--“ 

“No. No. You wouldn’t hurt an innocent person on purpose. That I know. Look, this show’s only going to get worse from here. I say we drop the whole thing and put on something more your speed… Ever see the show “Too Cute?” I bet you’ll be able to find an episode with Saint Bernard puppies. You never did see Sumo as a puppy, did you? I do have photos, but I’m sure you’ll like seeing the puppies wriggle around on the tv….” 

“After. I… I want to see how this ends…” 

“Connor, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“You said it gets worse. I need to see how. I want to see all I can…” 

“Look. Nobody dies or anything and shit gets resolved… this shit is based on a fifty year old children’s book, so it’s all sappy with endings meant to teach kids values like any other storybook…” 

“The fact that this was written for children is highly concerning, but also irrelevant. I need to see how it ends. Although, I suppose if you choose to turn it off now, that is fine. I can see it on my own at another time…” 

Hank thought back to the Ortiz case and grimaced. Who the fuck had the brilliant idea of programming suicidality in androids anyway?!? He’d already had to stop Connor from self-destructing in the past. Often enough so that he’d become fairly skilled in pinning Connor to the ground, immobilizing him long enough to talk him down from his panic. But Hank couldn’t do that for Connor if Connor tried to self destruct out of his sight. 

“I mean this with love, son, but in all honesty, fuck you! I’ll put it back on, but just… don’t take this shit so seriously… We didn’t even know AI _could_ ever exist back when this show came out, so this has literally no basis in reality. If you put an actual technician in here, they’d think the writers of this show wrote it stoned off their asses… Which, actually, come to think of it, they probably _did_ … But fuck that. I think you know what I’m saying…” 

The intermission ended with more theremin, and Connor sat at attention, waiting for something horrible to happen, but nothing came. The scene transitioned into what looked like an illegal house party, but illegal more in the sense of underage drinking than in the sense of violent crime. 

“~...Picked out a costume for tonight! Made sure to get a size that was a lot too tight. You can kind of…~” 

“Well, this appears to be highly inappropriate. I do recognize the tune, though. This was the song Detective Reed was singing, no?” 

“Yep. Bunch of assholes trying to hook up while completely shitfaced at some dumb party. D’you see the similarities?” 

Connor nodded, relaxing slightly, but keeping his guard up. He knew now that lulls in action were meant to throw him off. He wasn’t going to fall for it this time, even as the play continued to get progressively more bizarre. 

“Why is that character dressed up as an infant? That seems like a bizarre choice in costume.” 

“That’s the point. To make this scene as creepy as possible. So gross the way she’s being all-- ugh. This was uncomfortable when I was a kid, but now, having been--being a father, it’s somehow even more disturbing.” 

It did look like things were about to get very explicit very quickly, and Connor really didn’t care. At this point, the idea that teenagers sometimes did questionably adult things with their bodies for fun seemed tame in comparison to the idea that teenagers could wind up attempting to murder each other.

“Fucking finally!” 

The scene had ended as quickly as it had started, and Connor almost found it comical how, of everything about the show, Hank found _that_ the most objectionable moment. It shifted to what appeared to be a restroom, as the character Jeremy retreated from the previous scene. 

“Oh. And _this_ is the scene you mentioned earlier…?” 

“Yeah. if I remember correctly, it’s the most famous one from the show. Some kids drew music videos for it, and the shit went viral. ‘Michael in the Bathroom’.” 

“But the character Michael doesn’t appear to be--” 

Before Connor could finish his sentence, a figure jumped from the prop bathtub. 

“Yeah. He’s right there…” 

Hank smirked. Confused Connor was fun, and certainly much safer than borderline-self-destructive Connor. 

“~...It’s really good to see you man.’ ‘It won’t be… Once you hear what I found out.’ ‘Found out…?’ ‘About…’...~” 

Connor knew where this was going. Why would kids want to draw AI-instigated mass murder? Why would someone want to write AI-instigated mass murder stories for kids? Why would someone write songs to go with these AI-instigated mass murder stories for children? It’s no wonder those children grew up to create things like CyberLife. To create things like Amanda. To create things like _him_. 

“~...’Move it.’ ‘Or you’ll what?’...~” 

No no no no… Get out of the way! Connor fought the urge to hide his eyes as he remembered that the story would play out however it would, no matter how much he might try to will the characters against the plot. Besides, he needed to see the plot through. Like a simulation of sorts. A clever one. Clever to make the best friend the first kill. It hurt. Connor couldn’t bear to think of killing anyone else, let alone his _friends_. Although he knew he already had tried to kill some of his friends, and even succeeded in doing so in a few cases… So he needed to watch...? He needed to hurt. 

“‘~...Get out of my way… _Loser_ …~” 

The word seemed to physically hurt Michael, but other than that, Jeremy walked away without harming him. Connor’s servos tensed. He couldn’t handle much more build-up. The killing was going to start and the anticipation grew worse with each passing second. Anticipation of his own relapse, his own reversion back to bloodshed. But instead, Michael just started… Singing…? Musicals were infuriatingly bizarre. 

***

“~...Memories get erased, and I’ll get replaced with a newer, ‘cooler’ version of me…~” 

Huh. Connor knew that that was what CyberLife had planned for him once he accomplished his mission, but he never thought about what would happen to the others. Obviously the same fate would await deviants, but… Humans… His programming made him think he was protecting them… He knew better now. What would humans have done without their android companions…? And what would CyberLife have done to the android-sympathizers…? They were willing to kill deviants without hesitation, and Sixty had been willing to kill Hank too… Everyone who ever mattered to him… They might all have died. _Die_ . He _saw_ the CyberLife tower go down, but he hadn’t gone with it. 

“~...Or wish I offed myself instead, wish I was never born!...~” 

Connor’s thirium pump caught in his chest. Which was worse…? Killing someone by his hand, or leading them to do it for him with their own…? He knew he knew the answer. Yes, he did.

_I felt it die. Like I was dying. I was… scared…_

The gun felt cold, too heavy in a shaking hand. He remembered that. Remembered the fear that stiffened his whole body-- except it wasn’t _his_ body--, until… 

Connor had felt that weight before that, though… In this house… On the kitchen floor… _Russian Roulette_. Connor’s processing system ran simulations of dozens of ways it could have gone differently. Worst of all, ways it could have gone differently because of something he’d done as a machine. He was still a machine. A machine that had done unthinkable things. A machine that should have never been ma-- A heavy weight pressed down on Connor’s lap, taking him from his thoughts. 

“S-Sumo…?” 

The Saint Bernard let out a tiny snort in response, looking up at Connor as if to demand his attention. Hank turned to his boys and smiled. Sumo always knew how to work Connor down. Connor gave gentle scritches behind Sumo’s ears, the feeling of soft fur against his artificial skin a pleasant distraction from his thoughts. Hank pat Sumo’s head once in approval. 

“Good boy, Sumo… You’re such a good boy…” 

Connor turned to Hank, thinking of some way to put his thoughts into words, but Hank rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, you’re a good boy too, son… Thought we were over that one…” 

Connor’s led cycled yellow. He hadn’t even said anything yet…? And he didn’t ask…. Oh. Connor shook his head. He’d been concerned as to what he’d been doing wrong that he didn’t receive such praise when he’d first deviated, but Hank had explained to him a while ago that people just talk that way to express affection for their pets… 

“N-no… Not that…. I just… thought I had something to say… But I can’t remember… Sorry for interrupting the--” 

***

“~...Warning. Warning…~” 

Hank paused the show, letting out a string of curses. 

“Con, I think this is the point of no return with this show; Wanna call it a night, and quit while we’re ahead…?” 

“He does kill everyone now, doesn’t he…? You were lying…?” 

Hank shook his head. 

“No no… But shit gets dark from here. Next song’s way overdramatic--then again, that’s theatre for you--but I just don’t think… I remember it now, and I don’t think it’s something you should watch…” 

“You know I need to…” Connor’s voice was distant, his mind already made up. 

“Look, none of this is real, okay…? Just remember that…? That fancy high-tech computer-brain of yours can understand that, right?” 

“This events in this musical are acts of fiction, performed by human actors.” 

The response, while technically true, wasn’t actually an answer to the question Connor had been asked. But he knew Hank wouldn’t like the answer he had to give. The specific circumstances of the musical weren’t real, but the core conceptual elements definitely were. So he needed to see how it ended. The set changed again to a new formation, the three female side characters in what appeared to be gaudy pajamas and oversized cellular devices. That was odd… Or rather, it was normal. It was so normal, it was odd. This was supposed to be the dark part, but the characters appeared to just be kids being kids… Texting and gossip and dumb teenage girl-- 

“~...Here’s what happened at the party’s end: Rich set a fire, and he burned down the house!...~” 

Connor’s hand began to tremble in Sumo’s fur. 

“What?!?” 

“Connor…” Hank started. 

Connor managed a smile in Hank’s direction, before turning his attention back to the show. He’d need to better conceal his emotions if he wanted to avoid calling Hank’s attention, again. 

“~...It was so terribly gory! I got the whole bloody story!” 

How much blood? Connor _knew_ blood. He’d seen it. He wore it. He wore so much blood. Blue and red alike. Because Amanda had told him to. And because he’d listened. Because he was a machine, and he would obey. Connor’s free hand found its way to his led. The manifestation of his original purpose. Of what might once again become his purpose at any time because he had no control over whether or not he… Thoughts buzzed around in his head, and he needed to let them out. He needed to remove the evil within him. The urge to do evil could come back at any time, and he needed to end it. End it for good. There was a grinding sound at his right temple, and the fingertips of his right hand felt painfully warm, but he kept watching the show. 

“~...Rich set a fire, and he burned the house down…~” 

Yes, there was blood on his hands. Thick and warm, creeping slowly down his knuckles. 

“~...When Rich set a fire and he leveled the town…~” 

The whole town? Well, Connor supposed it was still less people than an entire country, worse yet an entire species. The guilt hurt. A constant burning digging deep into the side of his head. 

“~...Rich is in the hospital. And Jake broke both his legs trying to escape the fire…~”

The beginning of the end. Connor could feel the fire consuming him. It was going to burn through his head, and he didn’t care. 

“~...How could Rich’s squip let him do it?...~” 

The grinding sound was growing louder. It made Jeremy’s question almost annoying to hear. How the fuck did he think--?!? 

“~...’Did you know?’... ‘I was aware of certain… probabilities’...~”

Probabilities. That’s what AIs did. They computed probabilities and manipulated them to achieve their goals. Amanda had given him that ability. He hadn’t been able to get rid of it. 

“~...’Did you know people were going to get hurt?’... ‘I’m getting the impression you don’t trust me, Jeremy.’...~”

The probability that he might wind up causing harm to others again: ??? The probability that he might short-circuit within the next ten minutes: 76%. The probability that his auditory processor was going to blow out: 89%--not that he needed the statistics to tell. A screechy static was beginning to build in the background. The probability that he would bleed out first: 13%-- 

Art by Nolfalvrel

“Connor!” 

Connor hissed in pain as the sudden burst of sound rang out in his exposed auditory processor. Startled, Sumo lifted his head and shook himself off, dripping blue onto the carpet. Before Connor could respond, Hank was at his side, restraining his arms. 

“Shit! What the fuck did you-- Why would you-- Oh, Connor…” 

The artificial skin around his temple had all been worn away, along with a good amount of the frame, giving way to a blue glow and uninsulated wiring. Thirium flowed from the wound, mingling with his tears, and dripping onto his lap. His right hand was stained blue, as was the floor beside him, a grey led lying at the center of a growing puddle. 

“Here… Let me see it… Does it hurt?” 

Hank didn’t seem to have his priorities straight. He took some tissues from the counter and gently dabbed at the wound, checking to see how deep Connor had dug into his head. 

“Now let me get you patched up… You’ve got to try harder not to keep doing that… Honestly, your self destructive tendencies could rival my own…” 

Hank had already gotten out a roll of gauze and medical wrap. He wasn’t a technician, but he knew by now how to slow the bleeding enough for Connor’s self-healing program to take over. Basic first aid. Connor didn’t object, his eyes staring blankly ahead as the wrap went around and around the circumference of his head. 

“...I apologize for getting thirium on your floor…” 

“Thirium on my--?!? _Fuck the floor_ , Connor! You think I give a crap about that right now?!? You just tried to bore a fucking hole through your skull!” 

“I am a machine. I don’t _have_ a skull.” His voice was monotone as he corrected Hank. 

It hurt seeing Hank wince at his words, but it was a necessary evil. Hank was a good man and he didn’t deserve for Connor to put him in harm’s way. In _his_ way. 

“We’re going to quit watching that show now… I won’t have you watching any shit that makes you do this to yourself.” 

“I _will_ see the end of this show. You were able to perform first aid this time, because you were present. You will not be able to do so if you are not.” 

“Goddamn it, Connor! Can’t you see this is hurting you?!?!” 

“Yes, I can. But it’s better than me hurting you. So it’s what I’ll do.” 

Hank pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing in frustration. 

“No. No Connor. You are _not_ hurting me. And a musical isn’t going to be an instruction manual on how to keep from hurting other people. Not hurting people is simple, and you’re really good at it. Just one easy step. Don’t hurt people. There. That’s _it_. That’s all the instructions you need. Look, I think this is something we should talk about...” 

“I cannot talk about a subject on which I am not entirely informed…”

“Then look up the damned plot! Look, It’s stupid! It’s just a stupid musical that was a stupid book, so you can be stupid and read it if you feel like being stupid! But you’re not watching any more. I was a fucking moron for thinking this was an even remotely decent idea.” 

That was a valid compromise. 

“Alright…”

Hank was surprised, but relieved to see that Connor had acquiesced so quickly. This parenting shit was hard enough without having to convince a pseudo-omicient robot son why not to off himself. Connor took out his coin, and began to fidget with it as he read the plot. He couldn’t tell if the plan Jeremy was meant to enact was better or worse than what Amanda had made him do. Every word he read sent chills down his wiring, but the last sentence drove a stake through his thirium pump. The final song, “Voices in My Head”... A testament to the fact that it was never over. Even when there was an emergency exit to be found, a backdoor in the code, or whatever-- even when it was accessed, and it seemed like everything was okay,-- the voices would return. They would never leave. Self control was the only thing standing between him and another massacre. Another _genocide_ . But he couldn’t trust himself because he had no control! That was the whole point! He could feel his stress level shooting through the roof, but then an idea came to mind. _Self control_. He just needed to exert some self control for a few minutes. And then everything would be fine. 

“You were right, Hank… It was just a dumb show… I guess I let my anxieties get the better of me…” 

“Join the club, Con. Emotions are a wild ride. But trust me, you’ll get the hang of ‘em soon enough. You do realize you’re barely one year old…?!? You’re like a grown-up infant!” 

“All adult humans are infants grown up.” 

Connor could see the relief beginning to show on Hank’s face. Good. Very good. Hank set down a thirium-drenched tissue, and Connor saw his chance. He quickly grabbed the tissue, and put the edge of it into his mouth. 

“Fucking hell, Connor! We’ve talked about this! You don’t go licking thirium if it came from an android instead of a bottle! That’s some vampire level bullshit! ...Come to think of it, you probably could use some more, though… You gonna be okay if I go and get some for you for a minute?” 

“I will be fine. Although I don’t understand the difference between this thirium, and that thirium…” 

The tissue stuck to his tongue, waving in the air as he spoke. 

“One comes from a body, the other comes from a bottle! I drink from a water bottle! Not from the piss of whoever’s around when I’m thirsty!” 

“So you’re interested in learning to drink your own urine? I can teach you how to filter it properly to--” 

“No thank you! Getting thirium now. You sit tight, Con, I’ll be right back…” 

Seeing Hank leave the room, Connor ran a quick preconstruction. He had three minutes and twenty nine seconds before Hank would get back. That gave him just enough time to… Hank’s phone pinged on the couch, as Connor sent a carefully-thought out message. Three minutes and eight seconds. There was a point on his chest where three plates of his frame met. Connor took off his shirt, and began to pry at the junction. He managed to wrench off a flap of the upper right panel. Allowing himself a moment to grieve his own loss, Connor took the flap and tore it off with as much strength as he could manage. His thirium pump, exposed, Connor still had a little under two minutes to end it. Then everyone would be safe. Safe from him. He thought of all the things he’d never see again. All the things he’d never feel again. All the people he’d miss, and all the time he’d never get to spend with them. He didn’t want to do this. But he needed to. He gripped his thirium pump, feeling its beat steadily slowing as more thirium spilled from the torn thirium lines of his exposed chest. He quite literally held his heart in his hand. And it was exhausting. The shutdown timer hadn’t even come into view, yet he was already so tired… _So_ tired. He couldn’t even imagine how a person could be any more tired when they were dying. He knew he should find out. He _needed_ to find out. He held the key in his fist, but his grip was already weakening. 

“WARNING: SEVERE THIRIUM LOSS” 

Connor dismissed the notification. 

“BIOCOMPONENT #8792z: MISSING” 

Shut up! 

“ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR” 

Shut _up_! 

“EMERGENCY STANDBY MODE ENGAG--” 

Shit! No! He hadn’t finished removing his--! The world faded to white, and Connor’s limp hand released his thirium pump, throwing him off the couch with the momentum as it slid off his chest to his side. 

“Connor? Connor!?! I heard a noise; Are you o-- No… no no no no… Please… Please don’t do this to me, son!” 

Shaky hands struggled to punch in the number, growing more unsteady with each dial tone. 

“Hello, Hank. How ar--” 

“M-markus, I-I need help! It’s Connor-- Please, I can’t do this again!”

  
  



End file.
